Ghost Story

Ghost Story                

David turned the corner of 5^th and Vine and stopped. He hadn’t meant to go this way. Habit, he thought, shaking his head. He had walked this street so many times, for so many years his feet followed the path like a hunting dog follows a scent. He stood on the corner for a full minute, clutching his overcoat, the rain beating on his bare head, pounding on the sidewalk. Finally, he turned right, down Vine.

He walked with his head down, his collar up, his hands thrust in his pockets. David hadn’t planned to walk home tonight, but his car wouldn’t start, had to leave it in the parking structure.      

“Damn,” he cursed himself, “I should have taken it to the shop. I knew this would happen.” He walked with a long stride and watched his feet as they slid through an inch of water, causing a wake that momentarily documented his passing. He turned left down Harper. When he came to the middle of the block he stopped. He looked over his shoulder and studied his reflection in a glass door. The Good Read Bookstore, etched in the heavy leaded glass, arched just above his reflection. He stepped under the awning and up to the door. He reached out one finger and traced the “G”.

“Damn,” he whispered.

“Nasty night isn’t it,” a feminine voice said just over his shoulder.

        David dropped his hand and turned. “Yeah, pretty bad.”

       “I can’t believe I let myself get caught in this rain.”

       David nodded and slid his hands into his overcoat pockets.

       She said, “I thought maybe I would step in here till it settled down. Guess you had the same idea. Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

       “No, no. It’s okay. No problem.” David tilted his head and glanced at the young woman. She was pretty in a sweet way, like a girl in a milk commercial. He shuffled his feet then stepped to the edge of the awning and looked up at the sky. “Bad rain.”

       “Oh, I don’t know if I would ever call a rain ‘bad,’” she said, “maybe just ‘untimely.’

“Untimely then.”

He looked at her when he felt her looking at him. She smiled a pretty smile then rolled her eyes to look at the sky. He unconsciously stared. She grinned and looked down at her shoes and when he realized he was making her uncomfortable he looked away.

“Walking home?” he asked.

“I like this street.”

“This street? Why? Most the stores have gone out of business. Nothing here but ghosts.”

“I guess I like ghosts.” She turned to look at the front door of the bookstore. She leaned into it and pressed her face to the glass, her hand cupped over her eyes. “I like to imagine what places like this used to be. I know it was a bookstore, of course. But. . .what else was it? Was this where some man met his true love? Maybe a boy who went in there looking for comic books but found himself drawn to a book about John Kennedy will become president someday. Maybe a lonely woman on her lunch break saw a book in the window on how to catch a husband and thought, ‘what the hell’, and is now happily married with three kids, because she walked by this store instead of crossing over to the drug store.”

David moved to the bay window next to the door and peered in. The bookcases were all still in place. They looked like skeletons, bones revealed after the flesh of the books was removed. The tile floor was swept clean, he knew, because he had swept it. Only a thin layer of dust covered it now. Time dust.

David said, “There was an elderly lady who used to come in here and buy one cookbook every month for about a year. Her daughter just opened a little bistro on Main.”

“Really? That’s so cool.”

“Yeah. And there was this little boy, about ten or so, who came in one day and bought a children’s book about death to give to his little sister. Their father had just died, and she had put all of her dolls into boxes and stuck them under her bed.” David stood back from the window. “I hadn’t thought about him in a long time.” He turned back to the street.

“You worked here.” 

David nodded.

“How long?”

He cleared his throat. “Ten years, till a chain store moved in and put us out of business.”

“I hate it when that happens.”

David smiled for the first time. “Me too.”

They both stood in the silence of the pounding rain for a few minutes, looking up at the sky then down at their shoes. Water rushed down the sidewalk into the gutter, and in a small stream, traversed the intersection. Their breath had become visible in the cold darkening air.

“What do you do now?” she asked.

“I work at the chain store that put us out of business.”

“Oh, that’s weird.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But all I know is books.”

“Yeah, that’s like me. I used to work for this place that trained guide dogs. Very cool job. Now I work at the animal shelter. I hate it.”

“I hate it too.”

“The animal shelter?”

“The chain store. I hate it there. It looks just like every other store. There’s nothing that makes it unique. It’s all so. . .sterile.” He looked over at her. She looked up and their eyes met. Her eyes were green. The lashes blonde. A hat covered her head. His fingers itched to reach over and lift the little knit cap, revealing her hair. He wondered if it would tumble out from under the hat and cover her square shoulders or be short and stand straight up. If it would be blonde or red.

“Well, you know what we should do,” she said. “We should find your ghost story in there.” She nodded her head toward the door.

“What ghost story?”

“You know, what happened to you here.”

“What happened to me is that I managed this place for ten years then had to leave because we couldn’t compete in a corporate dominated marketplace that’s become so unfair. That’s what happened to me here.” David turned and slammed his palm against the thick glass. It shuddered but did not break. He pulled his hand back, then looked over at the girl. Her hands covered her mouth. She dropped them and grinned. She stepped over to the door and pressed her face to the glass.

“Let’s see, maybe there was a really nice guy who worked here and one day he picked up a book about trout fishing. And maybe, deep down in his soul he found that more than anything else he wanted to run away and become an adventurous trout fisherman, but he couldn’t because he had this job that he was real devoted to. And maybe one day he found himself with a job he wasn’t devoted to anymore but maybe, by that time, he was too old to become an adventurous trout fisherman.”

“Too old? I’m not too old.” David touched his fingers to a slightly graying temple.

The girl shrugged. “Too stuck, then.”

“I’m not stuck.”

“Okay.” 

A minute later she said, “Looks a little clearer and a lot darker. I better head home. Nice talking to you. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Sure.”

She smiled and walked to the awning’s edge. “Here goes,” she said and dashed out from under their shared shelter. She turned to wave.

David watched her run across the street and down the next block. She turned right on Mill and was gone. He turned back to the bookstore. Suddenly a white apparition appeared just inside the door. David jumped back then leaned forward.

“Moby Dick!” He exclaimed. Not a ghost, just the store cat. He had found a way to sneak in. David watched him curl up on a shelf in the window; the spot the cat had occupied for years. He looked well-fed and content “No place like home, huh buddy?” he whispered and placed his palm on the glass. Then he turned and looked up into the clearing sky. He brought his collar up around his ears and stepped out from under the awning.

He walked two blocks to Mill Street, where he would ordinarily turn left. He turned right. He found the restaurant his former customer’s daughter had recently opened and, through the window, saw the girl, sipping a cup of coffee. She had taken off her hat and strawberry blonde hair fell about her shoulders. She glanced his way. When she recognized him, her pretty green eyes grew wide, then she smiled and waved him in. David smiled, brushed his wet hair back with his fingers, adjusted his coat and stepped into the warm, unfamiliar air of the bistro.